scraps found in pockets at dawn...

you stare through the window
at the end of the hall -
the bunches of blood roses
against the blue wall...

wake up dead for all you had shouted,
all you will never say;
wake up dead and badly rhyming
day after day.


phones die
people pry
cats cry

on occasion

even lovers try
we always lie
no one can say why.

(language comes early,
and without any mercy.)

phones pry
people still die
cats always lie

(that's the secret of their strut)

lovers almost always try
even after prying through each other's lives.

on occasion - I assume - someone knows why.

(language came early,
my only mercy.)

-Brooklyn, New York